
Class "PS 3 .5 2, 5". 
Rook. "U, 2.3 CV 



H I s 



Co^Tight N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Th 


e 


Olive 


Tree 






By 






E. 


LEIGH MUDGE 






# 






PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 


THE 


METHODIST BOOK 


CONCERN, 




Cincinnati New York 






COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY 

E. LEIGH MUDGE. 



3t 



©CI.A354 - 



Contents 



THE OLIVE BRANCH page 

The Legend of the Olive Tree, 7 

Happiness, -------- 9 

The Light of Paradise, - - - - - - 10 

The Hills of Peace, 12 

In Miniature, - - - - - - - -13 

Easter Morn, 14 

Earth Lights, 15 

Afterward, 16 

Prayer of Dedication, - - - - - -17 

THE SHADE OF THE OLIVE TREE 

The Ship That has Sailed to Sea, - - - 21 

The Lost Gold, 23 

As One whom His Mother Comforteth, - - 25 

Memory, ---------26 

THE LITTLE GRAY LEAVES 

A Mocking Bird's Song, 29 

The Bird's Christmas, - - - . - - 31 
Dorothy Dee, ------- 33 

A Sunset, --------34 

3 



PAGE 

The Rose and the Pearl, - - - - - 35 

The Dark, 36 

In Maytime, 38 

Flower Song, --------39 

The Liberal Year, ------ 40 

THE STURDY TRUNK OF THE OLIVE TREE 

In the Cause of Truth, ------ 43 

My Mansion, 45 

The First Skirmish, ------ 46 

Heart Thoughts, ------- 48 

Quarter Centennial Ode, - - - - - 49 

Lincoln, -------- 53 

OLIVES 

The Alliance, --------57 

The Point of View, 58 

With a Spray of Pussy-Willow, - 59 

The Revolt of Boyville, 60 

Good for What, 63 

Dame Nature, 64 



The Olive Branch 



THE LEGEND OF THE OLIVE TREE 

That it might shelter me, 
Before my hermit cave, by earnest toil 
With heavy mattock, in the fertile soil 

I planted an olive tree. 

My olive seemed to be 
So parched and dry my toil would soon be vain. 
Anxious, I knelt and prayed — and God sent rain 

Upon my olive tree. 

Since God had answered me, 
Whene'er I thought my olive needed sun, 
Or wind, or frost, I asked — and it was done 

Unto my olive tree. 

At last — ah, me! 
After the frost, I deemed my tree had need 
Of hot south wind. Again my God gave heed; 

It killed my olive tree. 

Then did I see, 
Growing luxuriantly before 
My brother hermit's lowly door, 

Another olive tree. 

7 



"My brother, tell to me 
The secret of thy goodly olive there, 
When neither anxious thought nor answered 
prayer 

Hath saved my olive tree/' 

And thus he answered me: 
"Better than I, God knew its every need; 
His care I trusted, and He gave good heed, 

And blessed my olive tree." 

Then did I see 
The faithless spirit of my granted prayer; 
And now I pray, "0 God, from anxious care 

May I be free." 



8 



HAPPINESS 

In gold-bought palace fair, 

Where servants at our bidding come and go, 
Where wealth makes friends, and ease would 
banish care? 

Ah, no! 

But in a heart with deep desires removed 

From selfishness, some other heart to bless, 
Content to serve, loving and being loved, 
Is happiness. 



THE LIGHT OF PARADISE 

This morning a new glory met her eyes, 
Those eyes so full of loving tenderness 
That hid the image of a shadowed pain; 
Brave eyes, sweet eyes, that looked in yours 

and mine, 
Unquestioningly true; that held in their clear 

deeps 
The light of summer, and that mystery 
Of deeper clearness which the ocean hides 
From surface vision. 

Life has been to her 
A kingdom all divine; not partly God's, 
But His alone. Those eyes have looked upon 
The glory of the mountain and the sea, 
The cloud, the star, the fields of waving grain, 
Man at his toil, the little child at play, 
The world of longing hearts; and seen in all 
A gleam of glory from the light of God. 

Not unfamiliar does the new world seem, 
Which on this dewy morning met her eyes; 
Faces are there she oft has seen before; 
The light is clearer, but it is the same 
She long has known; God is the light thereof. 

10 



And in this light, her longings unfulfilled 
Waken and thrill with promise. Life is full! 
Her heart is free! 

My lonely soul, have patience; 
Again to meet thy loved one, turn thine eyes 
Toward the sunrising. Thy heart to satisfy, 
God grant thee vision, strength, and constant 

faith; 
That, some day, having seen, and served, and 

suffered, 
Thou gladly turn away from this dim twilight, 
To greet with confidence the golden morn. 



11 



THE HILLS OF PEACE 

Climb higher, friend, among the hills; 

The fog and mist have dulled your heart, 

Until our lives are far apart, 
Our thoughts, our hopes, our wills. 

You can not see the clearer lights; 
The chill, damp atmosphere of doubt 
Blurs all the warmth and color out 

That glorify the heights. 

Climb to such sunlit hills as these, 

And see, through Heaven's open door, 
The glad waves breaking on the shore 

Of life's eternal seas. 



12 



IN MINIATURE 

One sunny summer morning, after rain, 
I saw, as gentle breezes flung in play 

The sparkling jewels from the trees again, 
A rainbow in the spray. 

A tiny rainbow — not the splendid arch 
Which adds its glory to Niagara's fame, 

Nor that which marks the storm's victorious 
march — 
And yet, in kind, the same. 

The Hand that paints, with colors pure and 
chaste, 

Niagara's masterpiece with faultless care, 
Forgetting not the tiny spray, has placed 

The same perfection there. 

O soul complaining! If the Master share 
The glory of the heavens and the sea, 

Giving the trembling raindrop the same care, 
Will He not care for thee? 



13 



EASTER MORN 

Oh, the sad, gray morn! 

When despair but increased 

With the light in the East — 
But a new hope was born; 
For a tomb unsealed 

Told of glad resurrection; 

And to souls in dejection 
Was the Lord Christ revealed. 

Ah, soul overborne 

By the burdens of life — 

Pain, and evil, and strife — 
See! the glad Easter morn 
Shines into the West 

From the tomb of our Lord; 

Bringeth thee, at His word, 
Joy and peace, love and rest. 



14 



EARTH LIGHTS 

Glittering pendants of light 

Out of a halo of mist — 

Ruby and amethyst, 
Crystal and pearl, in the garments of 
night. 

Earth's bridal veiling of dew — 

Tremulous wands tipped with fire — 
Gleams of a meek desire. 

Which is the false and which is the true? 

Star, but a point in the sky, 

Mere scintillation of light! 

Dewdrop, so tiny-white, 
Fit in the crown of a fairy to lie! 

Deep in the infinite blue, 

Mighty, though moving afar, 
Ever the gleaming star 

Binds with invisible bonds to the true. 

Yet may the same golden beam 

Kindle the tiniest sphere, 

Show Heaven's power here, 
Picture the glory of God with its gleam. 
15 



AFTERWARD 

I spoke a word of careless scorn, 

And thought it was not heard; 
But one fond heart its wound had borne. 

I found it — afterward. 

A heart with pain and care oppressed 

My sympathy had stirred. 
I might have brought the toiler rest: 

'T was too late — afterward. 

My friend could never understand 

My love. It spoke no word, 
Nor gave him smile nor clasp of hand. 

I mourned him — afterward. 

Could paths once passed again be trod, 
Love's message should be heard; 

And friendship's fields for Heaven and God 
Should bear fruit — afterward. 



16 



PRAYER OF DEDICATION 

(1 Kings 8: 27-30,) 

And wilt Thou in this temple reign, 
Whom Heaven and earth can not contain? 
O Lord Jehovah, come Thou nigh 
And hearken to Thy servant's cry. 

Over this altar, Lord, we pray, 
Be ever watchful, night and day; 
Bless those who kneel in worship here, 
And to Thy people be Thou near. 

When here we pray and seek Thy face, 
Hear Thou in Heaven, Thy dwelling-place. 
Grant to us power for Thee to live, 
And when Thou hearest, Lord, forgive. 



17 



The Shade of the Olive Tree 



THE SHIP THAT HAS SAILED TO SEA 

My ship sails into the harbor, 
The ship I have longed to see, 

Laden with joy and blessing, 
The dearest of earth to me; 

My ship sails into the harbor — 
And my ship sails out to sea. 

The joy when she makes the harbor! 

The woe when she turns to sea! 
Must these, while at port I linger, 

Ever united be? 
Must every ship that enters 

Go sailing again to sea? 

What is, my soul, the cargo, 

Sailing away from thee? 
Cargoes of golden treasure 

Are often lost at sea; 
If this be the best and dearest, 

It may not return to thee. 

But if with love's rich treasure 
The ship should laden be, 

21 



Storms may arise to threaten 

The precious argosy — 
But, in the Captain's pleasure, 

The ship shall return to thee. 

So, whether she lies in harbor, 
Or whether she sails the sea, 

I trust my ship to the Captain, 
To bring her at last to me; 

For He shall bring safe to harbor 
The ship that has sailed to sea. 



22 



THE LOST GOLD 

A flock of pale gold clouds come crowding out of 
the West, 
Out of the molten sunset, and into the nearer blue; 
In the clear of the infinite distance, out of the realm 
of rest, 
They spring into visible being — bright phantoms 
coming to view. 
They float, they grow, they brighten on the distant 
west-wind's breath, 
Then, fading and disappearing, like the touch of 
a child's caress, 
Are lost in the blue of heaven. Tell me, is this 
death — 
After so brief a journey, to melt into nothing- 
ness? 

There is gold in the Western blue too fine for the 
eye to see. 
Glows in the laughing sunlight beauty too rare 
to behold. 
Some day of clearer vision the lost shall return to 
Thee, 
And smile again in the sunshine, and shower 
Thee with its gold. 
23 



We sit in the world's half-darkness, trying, with 
holden eyes, 
To pierce the infinite glory of heaven's mysterious 
blue. 
Oh, wondrous unveiling! Oh, rapture of breath- 
less, glad surprise, 
When the lost gold, purified, glorified, shall re- 
appear to our view. 



24 



AS ONE WHOM HIS MOTHER 
COMFORTETH 

The Master-Prophet's glowing heart, inspired 
To utter thoughts man scarce could grasp or 
reach, 

God's mighty tenderness His soul had fired. 
That He to men this gospel high migh teach, 
He strove to pour His full heart into speech. 

What tenderness of earth shall rank above 
The deep devotedness of any other? 

That of the mated wren or brooding dove? 

Only to liken it to woman's love, 

Can poet picture rarest love of brother — 
The love of woman — sister, wife, or mother. 

As mother's touch from wounded childish 
hearts 
The bitterness by its magic gently drew; 

As, in our later years, no healing arts 

Could comfort as a mother's hand could do, 
So, saith the Master, will I comfort you. 



25 



MEMORY 

I stood before a statue, from the gazing throng 

apart; 
It held me bound with its beauty, each delicate 

trace of art; 
But every touch of the chisel seemed graving upon 

my heart. 

I heard a sound at even — a tenderly sweet refrain; 

But the notes of steel set ringing forgotten chords 
again, 

And the nerves of my spirit quivered with an ex- 
quisite sense of pain. 



26 



The Little Gray Leaves 



A MOCKING BIRD'S SONG 

Go list to the singer from over the sea, 
Whose voice tunes your soul to its own melody; 
But give me the joy and the innocent glee 
Of the song of the mocking bird. 

Now listen! The still air about us awakes 
Into ripples of song — as the still water breaks 
With the fall of a pebble — till each echo takes 
The song of the mocking bird. 

A master musician, sweet mocker, you are, 
To sing me so sweetly and bring me so far 
A full thousand songs in your gay repertoire — 
The songs of the mocking bird. 

And now, as I lie on the grass at the feet 

Of your elm tree, you sing me your program 

complete. 
Do you borrow your song? What care I? It is 

sweet — 

The song of the mocking bird. 

29 



Then sing on, sweet mocker, as even draws near; 
The sweetest of echoes awake to my ear 
With the gay vesper song of your boundless good 
cheer — 

The song of the mocking bird. 



30 



THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS 

'T was a dreary day in the Northland, 

And over each vale and hill 
The North-wind swept, and the snowdrift crept, 

And the brooks were frozen chill. 

"All is blasted and sere/' you say; 

"All is frozen and cold." 
But many a heart beat warm that day 

In the land of the Vikings old. 

"Christmas will soon be here," they said, 

"Christ's birthday, to all so dear; 
But we little can spend for gifts to our friends, 

For poverty's hand is here. 

"Our harvests are small, our earnings less. 

We little for gifts can spare; 
But we '11 bring a sheaf of the finest wheat, 

And feast the birds of the air." 

So, high on the old thatched barn, they raised 

A generous sheaf of grain; 
And the feathered throng sang a grateful song 

As they gathered from hill and plain. 
31 



And the peasant said, as he bowed his head, 

At sound of the songs so sweet, 
"God bless the birds ;" and, with solemn words, 

"Thank God for the sheaf of wheat." 



32 



DOROTHY DEE 

Tell me, Oh bird in the aspen tree, 
Tell me, Oh flower of the clover, 

Tell me, Oh home-coming, sweet-laden bee, 
Roaming the fragrant fields over, 

Tell me if ever it chanced you to see 

Here in your meadows my Dorothy Dee. 

"We know her well," said the bird in the tree, 

Bee in the heart of the clover; 
"Oft comes she down through the sweet- 
scented lea, 

Seeking the cool forest cover. 
Bring you no harm to our Dorothy Dee;" 
Thus said the bird, and the flower, and the bee. 

Sing, merry bird, to your mate in the tree, 
Bee, seek the heart of the clover, 

While I shall find what is fairer than ye, 
Dearer the heart of a lover. 

"There is but one that is fairer than we," 

Answered the bird, and the flower, and the bee. 



33 



A SUNSET 

I stand upon the hilltop's rounded dome, 
To watch the lord of day retire from sight, 
The sunbeams fade before advancing night, 

And creeping shadows seek their silent home. 

But darkness comes not; in its stead, behold 
A glorious vision! Clouds are parted wide; 
A silver bank is formed on either side, 

And midst the splendor is a sea of gold. 

A sea of molten gold, with waves so bright, 
Rolling in silence on the silver shore, 
My weary earthly eyes can look no more, 

But turn, enraptured, from the wondrous sight. 

A sea of liquid fire beyond the mist; 

Above, around, the azure deep and wide; 

A fringing halo o'er the lambent tide, 
Where opalescent blends with amethyst. 



34 



THE ROSE AND THE PEARL 

I 
A dainty rose in the desert grew, 

Where none could see 

Her scented tree 
But the careless bird, or the honey bee, 
Though a palace would welcome her, she knew. 

But she flung perfume to the breezes wild, 

With a tender sigh; 

While the butterfly 
And the honey-seeking bee came by, 
And the golden sun looked down and smiled. 

II 
Hid in its pearly case, a gem 

Unheeded lay 

Beneath the bay, 
Nor knew the joy of the light of day 
In which it might grace a diadem. 

But the ocean whispered a prophecy — 

The pearl should rest 

Till the bravest and best 
Should seek, not merely at wealth's behest, 
The beauty which he alone could see. 
35 



THE DARK 

What do you hear in the dark? 

The dark! 
The cool, mysterious, silent dark, 
When each sense is awake, like a hungry 
shark, 

And must have something to feed on. 
Vaguely unrecognizable noises, 
Or the terror of hoarse, unfriendly voices, 
In the vague, unreasoning mysteries 

That our trembling fancies breed on? 

What do I hear in the dark? 

Hist! hark! 
The blended melodies of the dark! 
The music of soft, wind-ruffled rain, 
Remembered voices, heard again, 

With an echo of rippling laughter; 
And all the sweetly familiar tunes 
That a mother croons in the afternoons; 
While the morning's silver cheer comes 
after — 
The liquid note of the meadow lark — 
All this I hear in the dark. 
36 



What do you see in the dark? 

The dark! 
The cruel, pitiless, living dark, 
That seizes and holds me, but leaves no 
mark 

Save a terror-stroke in my soul! 
Spectral shapes, so darkly blending? 
Phantom faces, never ending? 
Does a nameless chill your pulses fill, 

And reason lose control? 

What do I see in the dark? 

The dark 
Brings me the faces I used to know, 
Restores the beauty of long ago, 
Opens the paths where I used to go 

Beside the forests and streams, 
And shows me the land that is always bright 
With the golden glow of eternal light. 

Ah, this is better than dreams! 
And this I see in the dark. 



37 



IN MAYTIME 

You have heard a symphony 
With but one pipe to begin it. 

Then another, till the whole 
Orchestra is in it. 

Thus the concert of the year 

Opened with one songster o'er us; 

Now from every field and tree 
All join in the chorus. 



38 



FLOWER SONG 

From over the sea I bring my bloom, 

Beautiful, fresh, and fair, 
A pulse of delicate, sweet perfume, 

Beating upon the air. 

Memories hidden in hearts of gold, 

Messages sweet and true, 
Love — as much as a heart can hold — 

These are my gifts to you. 

Still to the skies of the Southern blue 

Memory turns again; 
Here in the flower's heart so true 

Beauty is tinged with pain. 

Far from the land of the sunny skies — 
Land I no more shall see — 

Joy with the last poor blossom dies. 
Beauty is life to me. 



39 



THE LIBERAL YEAR 

A maiden came with gentle tread, 
And, at her word of tender power, 
Up started leaf and bud and flower — 

A resurrection from the dead. 
Her name was Spring. 

To fuller womanhood she came, 

And gave us fruits of sun and shower, 

Winning, in this more liberal hour, 
Another and a nobler name — 
And this was Summer. 

Now, older grown, her bounty gives 

To us the riches of her toil. 
In full supply — fruit, corn, and oil — 

All that man needs, by which he lives, 
The Autumn yields. 

Prepared for Winter, now so near, 

By this good year thy kindness sends, 

Now, as the Autumn glory ends, 

We praise Thee for the generous year, 
Most gracious Lord. 



40 



The Sturdy Trunk of the Olive Tree 



IN THE CAUSE OF TRUTH 

When a banner is uplifted in the cause of truth and 

right, 
When the clarion call of duty summons onward in 

the night, 
When the first heroic sentry, baffled, turns to us 

for aid, 
Shall we cry for peace, unheeding, till dishonored 

peace is made? 

Truth demands heroic thinking, noble action, loyal 
strife, 

Courage, not to lose the conflict at a lesser cost 
than life; 

For the peace of God's great Kingdom from a war 
with sin must rise, 

Not from tolerance of evil, or some gilded compro- 
mise. 

Truth has ever met its battles, martyr blood been 

freely shed 
That some word — Truth's mighty gospel — through 

the nations might be sped. 
43 



While the fiery darts of error flash defiance to the 

true, 
Shall we take the gage of battle should it challenge 

me or you? 

Fear ye not! Your cause is holy — ye who struggle 
for the right. 

Truth advances; truth will conquer, though un- 
certain seem the fight. 

As the ashes of the martyr, spurned of men, were 
carried free 

By the brooklet to the Severn, by the Severn to 
the sea; 

So the truth, though crushed by error, shall in 
triumph, far and wide, 

Flow to conquer earth for Heaven, on the future's 
great flood tide. 



44 



MY MANSION 

I would not build it so, 

Were I to make my choice of plan, 
And rear the walls according to 

The pattern of a man. 

I would not lay each stone 

So carefully. More rapidly would rise 
The walls, although to lesser height, 

To satisfy my eyes. 

But when the storm should come, 

Testing my scant-built buttresses — Ah 
me! — 
And flimsy arch, and crumbling pedi- 
ment — 
Vain would my labor be. 

And even could it stand, 

Domeless and towerless, I could not see 
The glory of the sun-kissed promised 
land — 

The land that is to be. 



45 



THE FIRST SKIRMISH 

You think I am old — too old — 
That the sands of my life are run; 

That younger hands must assume the work 
My hands have only begun. 

Old? Why! but the other day, 

Youthful and gay and strong, 
I stood at the very gate of life, 

And thought that the way was long. 

Why, look at your mother, boy — 

Of my age, almost to a day — 
And she is not old — What? Yes, 

It is true that her hair is gray. 

But she is not old — nor I ! 

I have vigor and fire and brawn, 
And she is the same — and you dare to say 

That the days of our youth are gone? 

Gone? Yes, gone; but where? 

A score of years in a day. 
What thief has entered the heart of youth 

And stolen its years away? 
46 



Old? Yes, but only in years; 

And let Time bluster and rage, 
For when the vigor of life is spent, 

I shall know the approach of age. 

Till then I will bear my part 

In spite of Time's lying tongue, 

And prove, by the might of an unaged will, 
That my heart is forever young. 



47 



HEART THOUGHTS 

Words can not tell the deepest thoughts we ponder. 

They sound the depths by surfaces, and show, 
Beneath skilled fingers, but imperfect visions 

Of all the lights and shadows far below. 

Let Mendelssohn speak to thy weary spirit — 
Thy soul is kindled to responsive flame, 

Yet canst thou not the Master's thought interpret, 
Save to thine own heart, and without a name. 

The artist paints, and critics try to follow 
His concept with their words, but find at last 

That art alone reveals the artist's vision 
Within the soul's remoter chamber cast. 

Ask what love is from lovers; they will struggle 
With stubborn tongues to tell their souls' emo- 
tion, 

Yet, though the poet gift their words enflame, 
None trust in words to tell the heart's devotion. 

So thoughts sublime hide half their richest treasure 
From him who through the letter seeks their 
dower; 
But give their noblest gifts in fullest measure 
To him who gives a life to gain their power. 
48 



QUARTER CENTENNIAL ODE 

(To the North Dakota Conference of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church, October, 1911.) 

Part I. — The Pioneers 

To this fair summit of the years ye come 

Who marched together five years and a score, 

To look, half sadly, down that trodden way, 
Then bravely up the years that lie before. 

But few are those we chiefly honor here, 
Who know the toil of every weary mile. 

To every comrade would the Master say, 

"Come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile." 

So down the narrowing vista of the years 
The eye of thoughtful memory ranges far, 

Where early heroes in our holy cause 

Followed the vision of the westering star. 

Heroes they were, unknown to worldly fame — 
The common story of the pioneer — 

Brave, patient, confident — in grateful praise 
Let us record their loyal service here. 
49 



No bugle blast, no cheers, no battle flag, 
No reinforcing host to praise their merit, 

They faced the northern tempest, and that foe 
More bitter still — the rebellious human spirit. 

Great were their deeds; not mountain high, but 
great 

Like North Dakota prairies, broadly planned; 
Fruitful of golden harvests, shining now 

On far horizons of this northern land. 

Part U.—The Men of To-day. 

In a world where many a nation 

Age on ages old appears, 
Judged by hoary faiths and systems, 

What are five and twenty years? 

Little, to the narrow visioned; 

But the prophet soul can see 
In the day of small beginnings 

Portents of the days to be. 

Know ye not that many a kingdom 
Now remembered with the great, 

Lacked by far the native power 
Of our young potential State? 
50 



Shall these years not have their portion 

In the winning of that goal 
Which rewards the land confiding 

In the bulwarks of the soul? 

God hath trusted us this burden. 

'T is for you and me to say 
If the rear shall camp to-morrow 

Where the vanguard rests to-day, 

Here, between the past and future, 
May we view the prospect o'er. 

Turning from our backward gazing, 
Let us trust the way before. 

For our faith must have its vision — 
May it come to you and me — 

Telling of the golden future 
Of the land that is to be, 

Of the conquests made for justice, 
Of the peace conceived of love, 

Of a faith unbound, all-powerful, 
Of a hope that holds above, 

51 



Then, in world-embracing power, 
To the future's utmost goal, 

Where a love for every creature 
Throbs in every creature's soul. 



52 



LINCOLN 

God sought a man; 
One who could stand, soul-poised, amid the 

surge 
Of warring factions, through a deadly strife, 
Misunderstood, maligned, but guarding well 
Our land beloved from wild fatuities. 

God sought a man. 

One who would dare 
To stand alone, if need be, to protect 
Our land from harm; to bear the Nation's grief 
Within a broken but unconquered heart; 
To risk his all with truth and righteousness — 

One who would dare! 

"Lo, here! lo, there !" 
The wise men brought their policies of state 
From capital and great metropolis. 
Among them, surely, stands the chosen one, 
The strong Eliab or Abinadab! 

"Lo, here! lo, there!" 



53 



A man came forth — 
A strangely strong man from the growing West, 
Staunch-hearted as his mighty native oaks; 
Like them, with heart akin to glowing fire, 
Simple and tender as a loving child, 

A man came forth. 

This man, God knew, 
Unawed by threat, unswerved by circumstance, 
Would hold the eternal policy of right, 
Maintain the simple loyalty of truth, 
And trust the hand that never is unjust. 

This man God knew. 

And so he came, 
The firm of hand, our nation's life to save; 
The true of heart, the bondsman to make free. 
Strong in our fiery testing-time, he gave 
The full devotion of a manly heart. 

Thank God, he came. 



54 



Ol 



ives 



THE ALLIANCE 

Sir Cupid is a youthful elf, 
So full of songs and rhymes 

That he can not restrain himself 
From singing them sometimes. 

Saint Valentine is old and gray, 

But all his ancient years 
Can never drive the smiles away 

When Cupid's face appears. 

The good saint spends impatient days, 

Three hundred sixty-four, 
Then his sincere allegiance pays 

For one day's glorious war. 

A triumph of diplomacy 

Is this supreme alliance, 
For thus they set the girls at bay, 

And spinsters at defiance. 

And so affection's youth they prove 
To those within youth's portal; 

To those beyond — that truest love 
Is, like the saint, immortal. 
57 



THE POINT OF VIEW 

When herb and grass and purple heather 
Had given place to wintry weather, 
Two artists walked the fields together. 

One was a cynic. Life to him 

Was seen through glasses dark and dim, 

With all his world within their rim. 

The other man could always hear 

The world's glad song of hope and cheer 

And see life's beauty through the year. 

Said he, "Why let dispute be rife? 

Let us unite in friendly strife 

To paint our favorite views of life." 

His friend agreed, "For well I know, 
In time of frost and winter's snow, 
Real life is only filled with woe." 

Just then they saw a slender form — 
A woman, from the fireside warm, 
Hasting before them through the storm. 
58 



They saw, but neither spoke the thought 
The moment's fleeting vision brought 
Till on two canvases 't was wrought. 

The one was cold and dull and gray — 
Grim Winter leaped upon his prey — 
A thin-clad woman on her way. 

The other was a charming sight — 
A lovely girl, with visage bright, 
Turned to the storm with footsteps light. 

The difference 't is well to trace; 
The one saw not the light and grace, 
The other man had seen her face. 



WITH A SPRAY OF PUSSY-WILLOW 

The gray of winter clouds is gone, 
Now comes the gray of spring, 

When nature laughs in running brooks, 
And lark and robin sing; 

So even gray in spring is gay 
And joyful everything. 
59 



THE REVOLT OF BOYVILLE 

'T was a country town, whose chief renown 
Was never in history written down; 
But the fact of the case, 
Which was no disgrace, 
Was seen in the very name of the place — 
The name of the town was Boyville. 

Visitors wondered to hear the noise, 
Till they learned the unusual number of boys. 
There was not a family without four, 
And some had nearly as many more; 
While of girls there were only a couple of score 
In all the village of Boyville. 

What a deafening din! What a clamor and 

clatter! 
When really nothing at all was the matter. 
If ever the town were in danger of harm 
By fire or flood or a robber's arm, 
I wonder how they could give the alarm 

In the rackety town of Boyville. 

At last the people, sadly vexed, 
And much perplexed what they could do next, 
60 



After a night of solemn reflection 
Met on the day of the town election, 
Discussing methods of strict direction 
For the boisterous lads of Boyville. 

And they passed a law that no boy or boys 
Should raise his voice or make any noise 
At home or at school or upon the street 
That one could hear at six hundred feet, 
On penalty of no supper to eat. 

And this was the law in Boyville. 

We leave to your family physician 
If a healthy boy, in good condition, 
Can keep from shouting once in a while 
In a voice that might be heard a mile; 
And every boy, without craft or guile, 
Berated the laws of Boyville. 

The very first night each boy, *t is said, 
Went angry and supperless to bed. 
Next day they met at the railway station 
And fixed on a plan in their desperation; 
To stay in the town would mean starvation, 
So they would desert from Boyville. 
61 



Each boy wrote a letter, so appealing 
To any heart that was not past feeling, 
That some aunt or other, 
Or good grandmother, 
Or even a father's bachelor brother 
Invited each boy from Boyville. 

What a sudden quiet settled down 
When the last boy-straggler left the town! 
All a sense of relief confessed, 
Yet every one felt, if he had but guessed, 
In some unaccountable way oppressed 
By the loss of the boys of Boyville. 

At night there was none of their jolly fun, 
And none of their evening tasks were done. 
Fathers came home looking strangely grave, 
Since there were no boys to misbehave, 
And none seemed perfectly happy, save 
The missing boys of Boyville. 

No merry shouts of boyish laughter, 
With whistled cheerfulness echoing after; 
But every day an intenser quiet, 
Till it even affected the people's diet, 
And they almost wished for a fire or a riot 
To break the stillness of Boyville. 

62 



At last the exile of boys was ended; 
The laws of Boyville were so amended 
That they all trouped back one sunshiny day, 
Whistling and singing, as happy and gay 
As though they had never been driven away 
From the beautiful town of Boyville. 

But their merry tunes had softer tones; 
And when they heard that Grandmother Jones 
Was very ill, every boy was still, 
When passing her house at the foot of the hill; 
And the people said with a right good-will, 
"We are glad that our town is Boyville." 



GOOD FOR WHAT? 

What my kitten good for? 

Jes' lick off he fur, 
Play wid straws and chase he tail, 

Purr, an' purr, an' purr. 

When de baby see him, 
My, but ain't she glad? 

Guess dat what he good for — 
So she won't be bad. 

63 



What de baby good for? 

Mammy work! Oh my! 
When she leave her, baby 

Cry, an' cry, an' cry. 

Good for muffin'? No, sah. 

Watch dat smile. Jes' see! 
Guess my baby sister 

Good enough for me. 

What am dis chile good for? 

Dat 's a puzzle, shore. 
Mammy says, "More trouble 

'N any free or four/' 

But when I bring de kin'lins 
Mammy always smile; 

Call me "mammy's li'l man, 
Mammy's precious chile." 



DAME NATURE 

A plaintive face Dame Nature wears, 
Her fancied grief to make me feel; 
But never can she all conceal 

The smile beneath her tears. 
64 



SEP 17 1913 



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